


Stellate

by morifiinwe



Category: The Silmarillion and other histories of Middle-Earth - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: Family, Gen, Loyalty, Nargothrond, Star of Fëanor, The doors of Durin
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-06-14
Updated: 2019-06-14
Packaged: 2020-05-07 19:11:54
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 617
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19215736
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/morifiinwe/pseuds/morifiinwe
Summary: We will not shroud the stars forever.





	Stellate

**Author's Note:**

> beta read by the wonderfully enthusiastic KTheKryptid and HerAwesomeShinyness, who has the best reactions.

**_stellate (adj.)_ **

_                       arranged in the pattern of a star _

 

i.

Celebrimbor felt the rough scrape of thread against the inside of his wrist and thought once more of home. He thought of his mother, pressing a cold kiss to his temple, hurt and hoping and helpless all at once. He thought of his father, the pain rising to his features, before a steely resolve settled in. His uncle’s jaw clenching in anger.

Then he thought very hard of Finrod, and ignored the scratch.

Grandfather would likely be disappointed in him, but Celebrimbor reminded himself not to care. Loyalty can only stretch so far, and some things should not be excused. His father had unwavering loyalty, but Celebrimbor was not Curufin. Did that make him better, or worse?

Finrod was family too, of course. Half first cousin once removed on his father’s side. Finrod had been his king too. If Celebrimbor had been more loyal, he would have followed him out of Nargothrond. If he had been less loyal, he would have followed his father. Did those choices cancel out, or was it simply worse and worse?

He had left for love and loyalty before, when he should have stayed behind. Celebrimbor couldn’t tell if he was learning, or making further mistakes. His loyalty must be worth so little, and there were few ways to prove himself again. He was inconsistent, even in choosing Orodreth over his own father.

The star of Fëanor scraped against his wrist, hidden from sight, but never mind.

 

ii.

The ithildin shone silver in the moonlight as Celebrimbor congratulated himself on a job well done. The work had been finished in the early evening, and the stars had begun to appear just in time to make a final test. Everything had worked perfectly.

Narvi had invited him inside to celebrate ‘properly’, but he’d promised to follow him in shortly. He wanted to take a moment to watch the stars. That had made Narvi laugh.

The night breeze ruffled Celebrimbor’s hair, as he worked it out of his braids. After all these years, he was still doing his hair the same way his father had taught him the first time he’d been brought into the forge. It was habitual, almost therapeutic. It made him think of home, but only the good parts.

The door continued to glow steadily behind him. Sometimes, he wondered if his family would be proud of what he’d become, if they’d like Eregion and Ost-in-Edhil. Time had worn down his stubborn resolve, and, though only in private, he could admit that he did, in fact, love his family. He missed them too. He missed his father and his mother. He missed his uncles and his grandparents. He missed his many cousins, Finrod and Orodreth, chief amongst them. It was only hard to say it.

Publically, indifference was a useful façade, if a cracking one. Celebrimbor, like so many others in Eregion, was tentatively returning to his old habit of putting stars on everything he made. A simple maker’s mark, usually subtle enough. The ithildin star, however, would draw anyone’s eye. His name was signed on the door in his grandfather’s script, and his grandfather’s star was placed in the centre.

Reaching out a hand, he ran his fingers across the smooth metal and the rough stone, tracing the eight pointed star. The West Gate was for the elves, and all the elves would recognise it. Celebrimbor smiled.

“Mellon.”

That was a touch his grandfather would enjoy. Celebrimbor entered Khazad-dûm, the doors closing steadily behind him. On the other side, the silver markings faded back to rock, but he knew what was there, out of sight, but never out of mind.

**Author's Note:**

> ithildin: the elvish metal made of mithril that was used for making gateways
> 
> i’m back! sorry i disappeared for a while. i had exams and was ill and my mental health took a nose dive, so i had to take a break from writing. the new little soldiers chapter is oncoming, but writing about maedhros post-death is both difficult and uncomfortable.
> 
> please like and comment if you enjoyed this!


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